


Rag Doll

by maybeeatspaghetti



Series: Shameless Whizzvin Smut [33]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Bottom Whizzer Brown, Couch Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut, Table Sex, Top Marvin (Falsettos)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeeatspaghetti/pseuds/maybeeatspaghetti
Summary: Whizzer knows how to get Marvin to work out his anger...________Angry/hate sex, as well as Act I Marvin and Whizzer, were requested by several anons.
Relationships: Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Series: Shameless Whizzvin Smut [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850437
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	Rag Doll

“You fucker,” Marvin growled, grabbing Whizzer’s arm, twisting him around, and shoving him backwards. 

A dull crack reverberated around the room as Whizzer smacked into the wall. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Marvin snapped, shoving Whizzer’s shoulders into the wall again.

Whizzer shoved back, parroting Marvin’s question, trying not to let anger get the better of him, but Marvin made it so damn hard to keep his anger in check sometimes. They were always fighting, it seemed, and Whizzer had yet to push Marvin to his limit. He wasn’t sure he wanted to try, but he’d been taught his entire life to stand up for himself and not let people walk all over him, which is what Marvin certainly tried his hardest to do, and his temper flared whenever Marvin snapped at him or berated him for something trivial. Whizzer had his own fair share of problems, to be sure, and he would never call himself blameless, but fighting usually meant better sex than usual, so he couldn’t be blamed for what he did next.

He spread his legs and slid up and down the wall suggestively. Marvin’s eyes darkened. If Whizzer could goad Marvin into a fuck, it’d be easier than having to resolve the argument with words, and Marvin’s bulging vein in his neck, biting tongue, and rough hands always turned Whizzer on more than he wanted to admit. 

He’d woken up around lunchtime that day—in a stranger’s bed—and said stranger had fucked him silently, his head hanging off the bed, the window open, the fan whirring quietly above him. It was odd, those few things he remembered vividly from just seven hours ago. He couldn’t even remember if he’d come. Surely he had, but he really couldn’t remember. The stranger had been soft with him and treated him nicely, but he didn’t remember if he’d come so it hadn’t been good enough to make an impression. He’d gone back to Marvin after a shower and fed him a lie, which Marvin saw right through, about where he’d been last night. And everything had been going alright between them up since then until Marvin had snapped at Whizzer that he wasn’t washing the dishes the right way, and things had escalated to Whizzer smashing a plate in the sink and telling him to do the fucking dishes himself. 

And now Whizzer was getting turned on just thinking about how strong and demanding Marvin could be, especially when he was angry. Whizzer kept sliding up and down the wall, trying to distract Marvin, trying to get him to fuck him instead of fight, so he inched his hand down his stomach, trailing across the rough fabric of his t-shirt, down… down… 

He palmed himself through his pants and something snapped in Marvin then. He yanked Whizzer by the arm, throwing him toward the couch. Whizzer flailed a bit for dramatic effect—he was a lot taller and stronger than Marvin, for sure, but to let Marvin have his masculinity, he let himself be flung around. And he would never admit it, but he enjoyed feeling like a ragdoll on occasion—he enjoyed his hair being yanked, his body being folded into impossible positions, and going completely limp as Marvin fucked him senseless. 

Whizzer caught himself on the arm of the couch, but Marvin was quick behind him and grabbed a handful of his shirt and shoved him forward, over the arm. His face was pressed into the couch cushions, and dust and fibres of the coarse woven fabric got in his nose and mouth and he coughed, which only stirred up more.

Marvin’s hands were rough, digging into his hips as he positioned Whizzer where he wanted him, and then his hands were yanking at Whizzer’s belt and jeans, pulling them down, exposing his ass, making him feel incredibly vulnerable but overwhelmingly thrilled, and Marvin could do anything and Whizzer would let him because it was good when Marvin took him like this. 

He heard Marvin fumbling with his zipper, the sound of the lube bottle Marvin had no doubt been keeping in his pocket because the sexual tension was always so thick that they were pretty much always on the verge of having sex at any given moment. They’d had sex without lube exactly once and, although it was consensual, it went about as well as expected. It had hurt like hell and Whizzer had actually cried, which had completely freaked Marvin out, and he’d spent the entire rest of the day and night holding Whizzer in a rare show of affection. They’d never done that again, and Marvin had never been affectionate like that again, but it had shown Whizzer a side of Marvin he’d never seen before, and he had begun to wonder that day—could it be that Marvin actually cared?

Marvin gripped Whizzer’s ass, digging his nails in and pulling his cheeks apart.

“Do you need me to open you up or did somebody else already do that earlier?” 

Marvin’s voice was biting, scathing. He knew the answer; he just wanted Whizzer to say it. Admit it. He pressed his lips shut. He wouldn’t answer. He wouldn’t. 

Marvin pressed a rough finger to his hole and then pinched the skin around it. Whizzer yelped. It hurt, but not enough to tell him to stop. He enjoyed a little pain now and again.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

“Already open,” Whizzer spat, gripping the couch cushions.

“That’s what I thought,” Marvin growled, and pushed in. 

Whizzer cried out, partly in pain, mostly in pleasure. It hurt—it always hurt a little when Marvin was mad, since he was less careful—but it hurt in a way that told Whizzer that right this moment, he belonged to Marvin and he was Marvin’s for the taking. 

And taken he was. Marvin fucked him hard, bent over the arm of the couch, hand on Whizzer’s head, pressing his face into the couch, keeping his head down and ass up, still mostly clothed. Whizzer knew he was drooling onto the couch cushions, but this was Marvin’s apartment and Marvin’s couch and he didn’t care what furniture he drooled on—or came on, as was probably going to happen soon.

Marvin was talking to him—well, growling at him—spitting words in his direction that Whizzer could tell were partly malicious, partly dripping with lust and desire, but he wasn’t listening, and he would never listen when Marvin started running his mouth during sex. Those words weren’t real. Lusty and clouded, those words were just tossed out in the heat of the moment. They didn’t mean anything. They were mean, biting, sharp—he could let them all roll off him without doing any damage. The words that did damage were the soft ones, the unguarded ones, the ones that left him feeling vulnerable and awkward… those caused the most pain and hurt. Thankfully, they were few and far between, but the memory of them being said would linger. He preferred Marvin’s anger to his softness. It was easier to pretend he didn’t care.

Whizzer focused on the pleasure churning between his legs and wondered if Marvin would get him off after he came or if he would leave Whizzer to do it himself like he sometimes did. Sex—angry or otherwise—was good with Marvin, but whenever Whizzer couldn’t come, which wasn’t very often, but it left a lot to be desired. Marvin was holding him down, pounding into him, a dull pain radiating outward from somewhere deep inside him with every thrust, but it was good. He thought maybe he could come if Marvin kept doing this. 

Whizzer inhaled a puff of dust and coughed harshly into the cushion, trying to regain his breath. The left side of his face was no doubt red and rubbed raw from the rough fabric, and it’d be damn near impossible to hide it if it lingered for a day, but the uncomfortableness of it was good. It was easier to detach a little and not get so hung up on Marvin if it hurt a bit every time. He liked the pain. 

Marvin pulled out and Whizzer reeled for a moment. Did Marvin come already? He hadn’t made the noises he usually did. He hadn’t shuddered and gone still like he usually did.

He was still reeling, confused, when Marvin yanked Whizzer’s pants down all the way and made him step out of them. He put his lips on Whizzer’s cock, flushed red and wet, for a quick moment, before shoving Whizzer into the dining room and onto the table. Finally catching up, Whizzer spread his legs, hanging them off the sides of the table, and lay back, putting a hand on himself. Marvin thrust back in and the table was at the perfect height to fuck Whizzer hard and deep, and Whizzer’s head lolled around on the table, feeling incredibly high. Marvin knew how to fuck, he’d give him that. But there wasn’t much else Marvin could do even half as well.

There was hardly a noise in the apartment except the table creaking as they moved, their shared panting, the sound of Marvin’s hips smacking Whizzer’s ass, and the occasional whine or grunt that slipped through tight lips. 

Whizzer gripped his cock in his fist and jerked himself off sloppily, trying to time it to Marvin’s thrusts but not quite being able to, since Marvin wasn’t keeping a regular rhythm. Not that it didn’t feel good—god, it always felt good, no matter how fast or slow or at what angle—but Marvin did what he wanted—well, who he wanted—whenever he wanted and however he wanted it.

Whizzer heard Marvin’s breath speed up—a telltale sign he was getting close—and twisted his hand a little faster. 

It happened very quickly—it was a very sudden, intense build-up, followed by a sudden release—and Whizzer came with a soft huff of breath, painting his abdomen white. Marvin came not too long after, grunting and pinching and squeezing and pulling and Whizzer imagined he could feel Marvin coming inside him, though he really couldn’t feel anything other than Marvin had suddenly stopped thrusting. Whizzer was quietly proud of himself—a pride of purpose, maybe, that he done his job well enough for Marvin to get off—but really, Whizzer figured just about any man could get Marvin off if he tried, Marvin was so repressed. Though he liked to fancy himself a step or two above the rest, since Marvin kept coming back to him.

Marvin pulled out, bent over him to kiss his nipple, sucking on it just a moment before locking eyes with Whizzer. Whizzer smiled softly at him, trying to look cute and plaintive enough that Marvin would stick around this time and actually cuddle him for once. But no. Marvin did what he always did—gave Whizzer a brief kiss to the inside of his thigh, patted his ass, and turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom, tugging his pants up just enough to walk easily.

Dirty and sweaty and tired and wanting a cuddle that Marvin would never give him, Whizzer climbed gingerly off the table and went to collapse on the couch, not caring what bodily fluids he was staining it with. Marvin could deal with it. And if he couldn’t, well, Whizzer knew where the door was, and he had no qualms about walking out and leaving Marvin alone at any given moment. He was always on the verge of leaving, it seemed. He was walking a tightrope—a thin line suspended between what he wanted and what Marvin wanted, and he could always just jump off if he wanted. He didn’t have to stay balancing on the wire, and yet he did. Again and again. Even when he wobbled and considered jumping off and walking out on Marvin, he’d regain his footing eventually and decide to stay. Marvin meant money. Marvin meant gifts and presents and being taken care of—if not in one way, in another. And he did enjoy the sex a majority of the time. There were times, of course, when it wasn’t good for either of them, but overall it was good. Great, even. Marvin definitely knew how to fuck.

But he wondered... He wondered how long he would let this go on for. How long he would be okay with being fucked and left alone. He had been fine with it at the beginning, but the longer this had gone on, and the longer he’d known Marvin, the less content he was to be abandoned for the shower. It just didn’t make _sense_. He wasn’t one to get attached to people. He wasn’t. He’d promised he wouldn’t.

He curled up against the couch and closed his eyes, imagining that the back of the couch was someone there beside him, and he lay that way until Marvin shuffled out, damp, and he climbed off the couch and went to the shower, where he warmed up, but was somehow still just a little cold inside.

**Author's Note:**

> An anon sent me this request on Tumblr; feel free to send in your own!  
> @maybeeatspaghetti  
> maybeeatspaghetti.tumblr.com


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